We found an English carriage from Padua at Florence, and hired it to
bring it back again. We travelled post with four horses all the way
(from Padua to this place there is a railroad) and travelled all night.
We left Florence at half-past six in the morning, and got to Padua at
eleven next day--yesterday. The cold at night was most intense. I don't
think I have ever felt it colder. But our carriage was very comfortable,
and we had some wine and some rum to keep us warm. We came by Bologna
(where we had tea) and Ferrara. You may imagine the delays in the night
when I tell you that each of our passports, after receiving _six vises_
at Florence, received in the course of the one night, _nine more_, every
one of which was written and sealed; somebody being slowly knocked out
of bed to do it every time! It really was excruciating.
Landor had sent me a letter to his son, and on the day before we left
Florence I thought I would go out to Fiesoli and leave it. So I got a
little one-horse open carriage and drove off alone. We were within half
a mile of the Villa Landoro, and were driving down a very narrow lane
like one of those at Albaro, when I saw an elderly lady coming towards
us, very well dressed in silk of the Queen's blue, and walking freshly
and briskly against the wind at a good round pace. It was a bright,
cloudless, very cold day, and I thought she walked with great spirit, as
if she enjoyed it. I also thought (perhaps that was having him in my
mind) that her ruddy face was shaped like Landor's. All of a sudden the
coachman pulls up, and looks enquiringly at me. "What's the matter?"
says I. "Ecco la Signora Landoro?" says he. "For the love of Heaven,
don't stop," says I. "_I_ don't know her, I am only going to the house
to leave a letter--go on!" Meanwhile she (still coming on) looked at me,
and I looked at her, and we were both a good deal confused, and so went
our several ways. Altogether, I think it was as disconcerting a meeting
as I ever took part in, and as odd a one. Under any other circumstances
I should have introduced myself, but the separation made the
circumstances so peculiar that "I didn't like."
The Plornishghenter is evidently the greatest, noblest, finest,
cleverest, brightest, and most brilliant of boys. Your account of him is
most delightful, and I hope to find another letter from you somewhere on
the road, making me informed of his demeanour on your return. On which
occasion, as on every other, I have no doubt he will have distinguished
himself as an irresistibly attracting, captivating May-Roon-Ti-Groon-Ter.
Give him a good many kisses for me. I quite agree with Syd as to his
ideas of paying attention to the old gentleman. It's not bad, but
deficient in originality. The usual deficiency of an inferior intellect
with so great a model before him. I am very curious to see whether the
Plorn remembers me on my reappearance.
I meant to have gone to work this morning, and to have tried a second
little story for the Christmas number of "Household Words," but my
letters have (most pleasantly) put me out, and I defer all such wise
efforts until to-morrow. Egg and Collins are out in a gondola with a
servitore di piazza.
You will find this but a stupid letter, but I really have no news. We go
to the opera, whenever there is one, see sights, eat and drink, sleep
in a natural manner two or three nights, and move on again. Edward was a
little crushed at Padua yesterday. He had been extraordinarily cold all
night in the rumble, and had got out our clothes to dress, and I think
must have been projecting a five or six hours' sleep, when I announced
that he was to come on here in an hour and a half to get the rooms and
order dinner. He fell into a sudden despondency of the profoundest kind,
but was quite restored when we arrived here between eight and nine. We
found him waiting at the Custom House with a gondola in his usual brisk
condition.
It is extraordinary how few English we see. With the exception of a
gentlemanly young fellow (in a consumption I am afraid), married to the
tiniest little girl, in a brown straw hat, and travelling with his
sister and her sister, and a consumptive single lady, travelling with a
maid and a Scotch terrier christened Trotty Veck, we have scarcely seen
any, and have certainly spoken to none, since we left Switzerland. These
were aboard the _Valetta_, where the captain and I indulged in all
manner of insane suppositions concerning the straw hat--the "Little
Matron" we called her; by which name she soon became known all over the
ship. The day we entered Rome, and the moment we entered it, there was
the Little Matron, alone with antiquity--and Murray--on the wall. The
very first church I entered, there was the Little Matron. On the last
afternoon, when I went alone to St. Peter's, there was the Little Matron
and her party. The best of it is, that I was extremely intimate with
them, invited them to Tavistock House, when they come home in the
spring, and have not the faintest idea of their name.
There was no table d'hote at Rome, or at Florence, but there is one
here, and we dine at it to-day, so perhaps we may stumble upon
somebody. I have heard from Charley this morning, who appoints (wisely)
Paris as our place of meeting. I had a letter from Coote, at Florence,
informing me that his volume of "Household Songs" was ready, and
requesting permission to dedicate it to me. Which of course I gave.
I am beginning to think of the Birmingham readings. I suppose you won't
object to be taken to hear them? This is the last place at which we
shall make a stay of more than one day. We shall stay at Parma one, and
at Turin one, supposing De la Rue to have been successful in taking
places with the courier into France for the day on which we want them
(he was to write to bankers at Turin to do it), and then we shall come
hard and fast home. I feel almost there already, and shall be delighted
to close the pleasant trip, and get back to my own Piccola Camera--if,
being English, you understand what _that_ is. My best love and kisses to
Mamey, Katey, Sydney, Harry, and the noble Plorn. Last, not least, to
yourself, and many of them. I will not wait over to-morrow, tell Kate,
for her letter; but will write then, whether or no.
Ever, my dearest Georgy,
Most affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Marcus Stone.]